Wooden Bowl

You fill a wooden bowl with the memories

of coming home after summer school

to the smell of flour, sugar, eggs, and chocolate chips.

Running into the kitchen to see mother

pulling a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven.

Two glasses of milk sit on the counter

waiting for you and your little brother

to use to wash down the sugary goodness

that your mother baked with love.

Once you finished your one cookie

you’d run back outside to play in the yard.

But now you’ve grown up.

Mother doesn’t make them as much

so at work you pay $2.54

for an old childhood memory

that gets washed down by cold brew.

Equally good but now they’re gluten free.